


you tell me you'll make it worse

by astele



Series: there's only one way this is all going to end [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inquisitor AU, Mild Blood, Minor Character Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, inquisitor!cal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21658306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astele/pseuds/astele
Summary: cal doesn't manage to hide out long on bracca.snippets of the most unhealthy coping mechanism ever.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Series: there's only one way this is all going to end [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561408
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	you tell me you'll make it worse

**Author's Note:**

> this is not gonna be a Happy AU - you've been warned
> 
> (come scream at me at @calkestisisms on tumblr)

The Second Sister isn’t involved when they drag in the latest fresh meat since her own arrival. Freshly broken in, she simply doesn’t have the seniority to be involved when everyone wants a piece of whatever pathetic life form had been foolish enough to be caught alive. It suits her fine – she’d rather not see that room any time soon, rather not relive the painstaking moments she’d lived in it. 

She did hear the whispers though. Anyone involved had no hesitance to exercise their bragging rights, and so she caught bits and pieces of the latest topic of interest. Survivor. Junior Padawan. Master died in the order. He’d managed to hide himself out on some waste of rock before the paranoia of the desperate after a galaxy scale war had eventually trapped him in a corner that he had no chance of escaping. That was loyalty for you – the Jedi had given their safety, morals and lives to protect the common people, only to be thrown to the wolves when they’d served their purpose. There wasn’t even the common decency to save the youngest if it meant protecting your own interests. Laughable that she had been expected to die willing for these people. 

Maybe in another time she would feel some shred of sympathy for this boy. She can’t summon it. He’d had his opportunity to survive, he’d had someone willing to sacrifice themselves so he could continue to live. He wasted it. Worse still, he hadn’t granted himself a merciful death when he had the chance to. Survival of the fittest simply dictated that what happened next was a result of his own weakness. 

It doesn’t take him long to break they say, though frankly she had expected it to be instantaneous. Pieces of the bigger picture begin to fall into place when she hears tales of him screaming himself hoarse when his hands come into contact with any equipment. She had wondered why they had even bothered to waste time on a half-trained child, but that particular ability – that would make sense. No point in leaving a potentially valuable asset a forgotten corpse when he could be a live and useful one instead.

This place was going to eat the boy alive. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time she sees him (coincidentally also the first time he sees her) is through visors. 

She prefers her face covered most the time. It’s easier that way, to slip into the person she is now. The modulated voice, the flashes of reflection she gets – she lets that woman take control, slips into her mindset like one would slip into a suit. 

She’s never seen his face. That suits her fine. She isn’t particularly interested in him, as long as he stays out of her way. She isn’t interested in knowing anyone here; her only intentions are to survive, and as she’s learnt, caring about others is a quick way to jeopardise your own chances of living to see the next day. 

It suits him in some ways – he’s the silent type. The first time she ever sees him is when he’s resting in the shadows, an unusual practiced stillness to one presumably so inexperienced. It’s akin to being in the presence of an ambush predator, patiently waiting for even a lapse to strike. 

In another time, the concept would’ve brought fear. Now though, she draws herself up slightly straighter. A warning. She’s not afraid to give as good as she gets here, and if he wants to make himself another rung in the ladder, she’ll climb over him without an ounce of regret.

It draws a tilt of a helmeted head in her direction, and she stares back silently. Neither of them moves for a heartbeat. He concedes first, though slowly and as though he had decided that she simply wasn’t worth the effort. 

She makes two mental notes as she passes: watch that one and violently encourage he gains some manners at first given opportunity. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time she sees him fight, she’s an observer. 

He’s still silent, even with the Eighth brother circling him, aggression clear in every step. There is not even a twitch of acknowledgment at every taunt thrown in his direction. His lightsabre remains on his belt, although she can see that set in his shoulders and stance that tells her he isn’t completely unprepared for the first attack. 

It’s short and brutal. He has the other inquisitor on the offensive nearly immediately, and for the first time she sees some kind of emotion from him, a certain degree of viciousness as he forces the other back with strike after strike. There’s a spectrum of control in this place, and this one always seems to be so well put together. She can’t help an involuntary flicker of interest watching that come undone. 

It’s strange to watch, from someone who had been a Padawan so recently. Perhaps she had expected some of that lingering Jedi restraint, or even a smidge of gracefulness. There’s none of that here. He fights like a cornered wild animal, one who simply did not have the concept of defeat engrained into them. 

She wouldn’t say she was impressed when he leaves his opponent gasping for pain on the ground. Perhaps he isn’t a complete waste after all, however. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time they’re assigned a mission together, she’s furious. 

The Jedi sightings that had been called in matched the description of someone all too familiar. The Second Sister couldn’t help but bare her teeth at the audacity of the betrayer to show her face in a civilised area ever again, knowing that her former apprentice was out there willing to rip her to bits the second she did. 

It doesn’t help that she can leave only after having been apparently assigned babysitting duty. He remains thankfully characteristically silent. She makes a point anyway of violently glowering in his direction to reiterate that if he gets in her way, his limbs may be about to experience an unfortunate accident. 

The trail has gone cold by the time she reaches it. Mocked by a phantom of the past yet again. She nearly screams in frustration, lashing out at the nearest infrastructure. A better target presents itself when she realises, she has an audience, a witness to her lapse in focus.

“What?” She snarls, spinning on her heel to address the seemingly ever-present irritation. He’s leaned against a wall, the most casual she’s ever seen him, arms crossed. For a moment, she thinks he’ll be smart enough to keep his mouth closed. 

Apparently, the Force is not in the mood to be granting her even small mercies today. 

“It was never going to be that easy. She’s not going to just let you get her.” 

She decides right then and there that she much preferred when he didn’t speak. Growing anger fuels the fire in her chest as she strides right up into his face, tilting her head down challenging. 

“I don’t know what you think you know. I don’t care what you think you know. But don’t you dare presume to know anything about me.” 

The small laugh isn’t nearly as blood boiling as what comes next. 

“Unfortunately, I know everything about you, Trilla.” 

She’s struck him before she’s even fully formed the intention to. It is satisfying however to watch him stagger back, one arm curling protectively around his mid-section, and trying to stifle the little gasp she’s managed to draw from him. 

She knows that she can’t kill him and not expect to face punishment. Whether she likes it or not, he’s valuable for the same reason that he knows too much about her, no matter how much she hates it. It won’t stop her from putting him back in line. 

“Ever say something like that again, and I’ll carve your tongue from your head,” she informs him slowly, punctuating each word with deadly inflection. 

There’s a fight brewing in his posture, but he makes no move towards her and she’s done with him here today. She doesn’t acknowledge him again as she storms past, nor at any point on the way back. 

Presumptuous brat. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time she sees his face, there’s a heartbeat where she’s caught off guard.

He’s no longer a child, but he still somehow manages to look so young. Unkempt ginger hair falls everywhere, an almost sickly pale complexion broken up only by occasional off-white scarring that serves to remind that he isn’t simply some naïve youth.

He catches her staring and lifts his chin. She doesn’t look away. His eyes burn that same unsettling colour of yellow that they all have, but there’s something in there that interests her. His absolute confidence and determination that strikes her. She’s used to catching fleeting hints of anger, fear, shame or anything else really. She finds none of that here. 

“Can I help you?” At least he doesn’t sound as young as he looks. She doesn’t know whether to be irritated or amused that he isn’t particularly bothered by her presence. 

“Just wondering how someone can function with so little brain activity,” she shoots back snidely, tilting her head as if to challenge him to argue.

His response is a raised eyebrow. A side glances. A slight curl at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know, care to share your experiences?” 

She isn’t used to people willing to actively fight back. There’s something thrilling about it. “If you want a beating, all you have to do is ask. Don’t strain yourself trying to be witty.”   
That actually draws out a dry laugh. He tilts his head down to hide his face from her, but she can almost hear the grin in his voice. 

“If you want to get your hands on me that bad, all you have to do is ask.”

A choke of outrage is all she deigns to give him when she storms off. The audacity. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time they kiss, it was an accident. She’d actually been out for his blood. 

The Second Sister was getting extremely tired of being sent out with the brat on her heels but knew complaining would only make it worse. Which is how she found herself tracking rumors through yet another backwater hellhole in the chance of actually finding something worth her time. 

Apparently, she’d finally been granted some clemency. 

She’d been on her own when she’d tracked down her prey. The young Er’Kit padawan had finally given up running and had decided to meet her head on it seemed. She was delighted to finally have a real fight, provided he was actually capable of putting up much of one. 

It had been amusing to bat back any attacks he made, every once and a while switching to lunge forward and taunting batter his defences. The rush of power under the skin only grew as his attempts grew more and more desperate, and her excitement peaked when panic won out and he decided to run. 

What she had not planned for was for him to promptly receive a well-timed blade through the chest. 

“That was my kill,” she snapped at the brat, feeling the slight shake of rage as she balled up her hands.

“Guess not,” came the cool reply as he turned his back and sauntered off back the way he had come as though she wasn’t even there.

She’d lunged for him. 

Her wrist was in his grip as soon as he spun, which he used to shove her back a few feet. A helmet dumped gracelessly on the ground later, and he was giving her a smug grin that she wanted nothing more than to wipe off his face permanently. 

“Come on Trilla, surely you can do better than that!” He teased, beckoning her forward with one hand. A snarl left her lips, and she made a point of throwing her own helmet on the ground before fixating on him, teeth bared. 

She only feels a little better when a feint to the right means that her fist gets to collide with his cheekbone and she finally sees some anger. The next time she goes for it, he’s finally learned something apparently because he’s got her wrist again and is pulling her in off balance. 

That’s how it happens. One minute she had been determined to tear into him bare-handed, and the next she found herself digging teeth into his bottom lip. He had jolted slightly in surprise, but it hadn’t stopped his free hand from twisting firmly in the back of her hair and pulling her closer.

When they pulled away it was with a gasp, her hand on his chest to sudden create at least even the illusion of space. Her head was buzzing from adrenaline and all she could taste was a faint tinge of iron. 

Silence. 

“I hate you,” she finally informed him, giving him a shove back as she wiped the back of one hand across her mouth. 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> they are uhhhh not very nice to each other
> 
> in fact, things are about to get Worse


End file.
